deepundergroundpoetry.com
too soon beloved
mostly, he watches porn & satisfies himself as he awaits the end of his
winter of discontent, which has lasted now thru several springs &
summers. then one night, just like that, he decides he wants a woman,
a real woman; maybe he'll find one with the name of a pornstar, like
Janelle or Nola or Terri. so he puts on a navy blue sportcoat over a khaki
shirt & jeans, splashes on Hai Karate, & goes out to hunt.
he goes to the clubs where the girls are very beautiful, or else they think
they are, & thus disguise their non-glamour with a mock arrogance of
makeup, so that even the plain girls reject him.
these fancy dancehalls aren’t his killing field, he figures, so he heads for
a divebar. he takes the stool next to a woman in long curls, brunette &
liquid. ‘Hi, I’m Rollo’ he says, which isn’t his name, but it came into his
head so he said it, & about falls over when she says her name is Terri.
they fall into easy conversation, & dance as a ballad of the old world
plays on the jukebox. neither of them being good dancers, they simply
sway languidly, enjoying the holding & the being held, which are
essential benefits of dancing.
the evaporating hours of the night find them sitting closely together,
touching in casual ways: his hand on her arm, in a blatant attempt to
be near her breast, which she is aware of but does not dissuade; she
with her hand on his knee, then his thigh, noticing a subtle stirring
beneath the fabric of his jeans.
when the bar closes, they’re not ready to part, & he….. well, he informs
her of his flight plan & she clears him for take-off. their one-night stand,
being a very private affair, can be summarized thusly:
they found that lust is but a dying flame
upon a burning bed
and all the things that can be said of love
are never said
a few hours later he awakes to find himself alone. there was no note; Terri
was gone & there was no trace that she had even been there. suddenly he
felt the old hurt rekindle inside him. he never wanted to love her this much.
( a girl of the briefest kiss, so deeply beloved –
you leave us to wonder, Terri, what took you away?)
he returns home to build his wall of winter, & he tries not to think about
Terri. (no, seriously, he really tries.)
mostly, he watches porn…
(Artist unknown)
Published 2nd Aug 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 15
reading list entries 2
comments 11
reads 1663
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
2nd Aug 2016 9:48pm
'they found that lust is but a dying flame
upon a burning bed
and all the things that can be said of love
are never said '
So beautiful,such a lonely story.....
upon a burning bed
and all the things that can be said of love
are never said '
So beautiful,such a lonely story.....
2nd Aug 2016 11:32pm
such a poignant write John love I've not the courage to express my love or lust..
" they found that lust is but a dying flame
upon a burning bed
and all the things that can be said of love
are never said"
painfully gorgeous..
love Crim
" they found that lust is but a dying flame
upon a burning bed
and all the things that can be said of love
are never said"
painfully gorgeous..
love Crim
Anonymous
- Edited 3rd Aug 2016 00:40am
3rd Aug 2016 00:27am
An engaging read John. :-)
3rd Aug 2016 3:06am
Anonymous
3rd Aug 2016 4:03am
This was fabulous..you are a story teller John and Hai karate' was a nice touch lol...i chuckled when i saw that..:))
3rd Aug 2016 6:07am
Realist and stripped bare and driven by the insatiable - and yes hai karate was genius as well as the subliminal richness in the texture of the write
Absolute truth in a story of the folly of the half- hearted and fruitless hunt that so many do and ends as so many do. Not meaning to love the fleeting creatures gone before the flesh grows cold.
RL
RL
3rd Aug 2016 3:45pm
The walls we build around our self-defenses isolate pain
so much more than experiences, if they could but pass through us
vs being shoved into a room with a locked door.
Stirring write, John.
so much more than experiences, if they could but pass through us
vs being shoved into a room with a locked door.
Stirring write, John.
Anonymous
5th Aug 2016 4:25am
Sir John, heart wrenching and captivating...so many can relate to this...you are worldly beyond years and I imagine you shall always seduce us with your poetry regardless of the content....such respect I have for you and your pen. With love always - Taryn xoxo
5th Aug 2016 7:41pm
I'd love to ramble about how awesome this is...but it speaks,no screams for itself...heartdrop
Anonymous
10th Aug 2016 3:39am
I enjoy your narratives, which are so evocative and messily human. The bit of sly humour at the end of this one particularly appeals to me.
